The next day, a small group of dots could be seen moving in our direction, and Khalam hissed that they may be an overly-enthusiastic party of the Tides, fresh young blood looking to harass and extort the merchant trains that passed these ways. They would prove their place in the world with violence, or at least the threat of violence. It was the way of the Grass Sea, and the caravan was prepared to act accordingly. Jasper, Khalam’s second, estimated they would catch up to us on the morrow. Although the caravan for the most part was almost indolently cavalier in their attitude about the whole thing, they would not find Kidu and me unprepared.
The next morning, instead of moving out as usual, the caravan remained in its nightly defensive formation. The fast-moving dots from the day before had transformed into a group of horsemen moving steadily closer. At that pace, they would be upon us in a few hours. My group prepared for the potential confrontation, and even Larynda had picked up on the cues and begun sharpening a small steel knife. We had told her to stay back and leave the fighting to those more capable, to which she sullenly agreed.
The caravan was prepared to meet the riders.
As the advancing horsemen drew closer, I instructed Kidu to keep out of sight and for Larynda to remain in the wagon. Kidu positioned himself behind one of the large wagons, his left hand holding his bow, with three long arrows at the ready. With a huff, Larynda retreated into our wagon.
At this distance, I could discern that the group was composed of two distinct factions. One half of the approaching warband wore grimy white tabards over their armor and were outfitted in a more "Western" style, while the other half were equipped with the armor and gear that were typical of the Tides. Their horses were lathered with sweat and came to a halt approximately twenty paces away from the circle of wagons.
In the midst of their party, my gaze fell upon a warrior adorned in exquisite plate-and-mail, delicately chased with gold. With a gentle motion, she removed her helmet, revealing a breathtaking woman whose stunning appearance stood in stark contrast to the rugged company she was in. In that fleeting instant, the chaotic thoughts of warfare and brutality dissolved, consumed by the mesmerizing vision before me. Even from afar, the alluring contours of her face drew the eye, and the vibrant shock of fiery red hair blazed like a torch.
Self-consciously, my gaze drifted down towards the dull-colored robes that covered my armor, and I fidgeted with the heavy bevor around my neck. My robes would serve to obfuscate the weak points of my armor and, to all appearances, I must have looked like some sort of poor mendicant warrior monk.
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A feeling close to déjà vu enveloped me. So entranced was I, that I barely noticed another of their number.
Bound upright to a horse was yet another familiar face, though he looked a little worse for wear. Bruised and battered, Elwin was the very embodiment of painful despair, his expression hollow and haggard. With the Rogue in their company, the small warband's intentions were made clear. I gave a subtle nod to Kidu, who had also noticed our old comrade in their ranks.
One of the Tide warriors, an unscarred and youthful man, had his crested bronze nasal helm tucked under one arm. Clad in the full panoply of war, he wore an impressive iron coat of circular plates gilded with copper and silver, all sewn onto a tough leather backing. In his dominant hand, he held a long lance that was grounded in his right stirrup. The tasseled head of his weapon was a slash of iron in the morning sun. He looked confident and strong, with an air about him of someone filled with self-belief and fueled by ambition. The leader of this band, if I was not mistaken.
With a clear voice that showed none of the strain of his long ride, he addressed the caravan in a ringing voice, “We are searching for a man. An escaped slave, foul brigand of ill-repute, and we believe him to be among your number. I would speak to whoever leads this group.”
With this exclamation, at least in my mind, violence now was all but inevitable.
Laes rode out to meet them on his horse, with two mounted guards at each flank. Despite his usual strong demeanor, there was a barely hidden nervousness about him. It made me wonder if this was all pre-planned, a convoluted scheme to capture me when I was at my most vulnerable. I held my breath, itching to take direct action. Instead, I chose the wiser path, casting Identify on the leader to gauge the threat he presented. The upcoming exchange had me on edge, and I waited with bated breath for what would come next.
Tarkhan Aigiam - Waverider [Human lvl.11]
Health: 142/144
Stamina: 36/37
Mana: 8 / 8
“May the winds favor you. Would you give this one, Laes of the Ravens, the honor of your name that we may address you properly?” replied the caravan master, his words almost as stiff as his seat in the saddle.
“Lesser merchant, you may address me as Waverider Tarkhan Aigiam, Captain of the 9th Lance…” he answered with no small amount of contempt, somehow able to look down his nose at Laes, despite their positions of similar height.
He took a moment to confirm his smug superiority before continuing in his ringing voice, and the stallion beneath him stamped its foot as it felt its rider’s aggression, “We know he travels under your colors, petty coin-counter. Bring him out, or you will know what is to go against the Tides.”